


Wake Up Slow (Banana Pancakes)

by midnightcas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Architect Derek Hale, Breakfast, Derek Feels, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Derek Hale Has a Nice Day, Derek is a Softie, Domestic Fluff, Early Mornings, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Laura Hale Feels, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Proud Stiles, Short & Sweet, Sleepy Boys, Stiles Has a Crush, Stiles Stilinski Cooks, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles is Stiles, There's a Keurig, Toothache, banana pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 04:07:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11050989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightcas/pseuds/midnightcas
Summary: Stiles crashes on Derek's couch and they wake up slowly together.Just a lot of self-indulgent domestic fluff that came from the "Have a good day at work." prompt.





	Wake Up Slow (Banana Pancakes)

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is kind of doubled posted (aka this is chapter six in "100 Ways to Say I Love You")
> 
> I know it's just a drabble, but I kind of fell in love with it when I wrote it and wanted to give people the chance to read it without having to tackled a potentially 100 Chapter Story if that wasn't their style. 
> 
> So, apologies if this is a bothersome thing, but all in all, I just hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it.

Stiles woke to the aggressive sound of a Keurig sputtering out water. Even in his half sleep, he furrowed his brows in question. He didn’t own a Keurig. Right? _Right?_

Oh God. What if this was like a thing? Like he fell asleep and was transported 10 years into the future or something and this is his life, now. Like, he was a successful entrepreneur with a furnished house, a nice yard, maybe a dog or two, a few kids or not...an equally successful partner who’s a morning person that’ll make him breakfast, they’d read the paper together, or at least, they would and Stiles would do the games, and he had a Keurig. Ugh. He shifted. He was...he was on a couch? Huh, must have been an unhappy marriage. Well, _a_ marriage was better than no marriage, right? Especially at the rate he was going...or rather, his past-self was going. God, he didn’t know if he could handle all this yet.

He was kind of forced to, however, when a gruff voice came from above him, “I know you’re up.”

And hey...he knew that voice.

His eyes flew open, “D-Derek? I married _Derek_?”

Derek quirked an eyebrow and looked on Stiles with a clear sign of fascination, his voice was playfully condescending, “Is that what you dream about?”

A strange feeling settled over him. It wasn’t quite relief and it wasn’t quite disappointment either. He shoved it to the back of his mind to analyze later.

“Oh yeah. Every night I have a dream about marrying one of the pack members.”  
  
“Yeah?” Derek’s eyes was still a bit hooded from sleep, as he stood there, mug of coffee in hand.

“Yeah. You should have been there for the one with Boyd. His princess gown had an a-line. And Isaac? Total Bridezilla.”

The man hummed in amusement before nudging Stiles’ thigh over with his own to make enough room for himself to plop down on the couch next to him. He reached for his phone. It was dead.

“What time is it?”

“Six,” came the response.

Stiles looked over. The man had his head tilted to rest on the back of the couch, his coffee cradled to his chest. It was so achingly domestic that Stiles nearly cried. Because Derek _deserved_ this. To be able to wake up and...well he deserved a furnished house...a nice yard, maybe a dog or two...a few kids, an equally successful partner that was a morning person that would make him breakfast, someone to read the paper with...and a Keurig. The man should have seven. He was still dressed in his pajamas, grey sweats and a forest green UVM sweatshirt that had been stretched and worn from age. His dark hair was rustled and he looked...he looked soft. And Stiles couldn’t drag his eyes away.

Eventually, Derek cracked one eye open to look at the human, “What?”

Ignoring the morning voice all together, because Stiles’ psyche could not actually _handle that,_ he croaked back, “Why so early?”

“I have work.”

“Mm yeah.”

For the past year Derek had been working at a contracting firm in the next town over. The guy had a degree in architecture. Who fuckin’ _knew_ ? But he liked it...or at least Stiles thought he did. He could look casual for most days, got to do the math-y stuff and if they needed the help he got to work with his hands a bit and help out the build crew. They gave him all the time off he needed (aka once a month for the full moon and shit) and he could technically work from home if he needed to, which in their lives, was a very real possibility of necessity.He was getting up there, too, already a manager for one of their wings and he just started plans for his own first official project. Stiles was...oddly proud. It was still weird for him sometimes. Not being able to call Derek at any and all times of the day and expect him to drop everything to rescue one of the little shits because he was an actual _functioning_ adult. But it was good for the man. His happiness was visible. He wasn’t as muscled (don’t get Stiles wrong, he was still _very_ muscled...like... _very_ ), but it looked more natural now, like it was his choice to stay in shape and it wasn’t forced upon him by some nerdass hunters that kept him on the run for more than like, half his life. He smiled more, well, little grins and smirks about things that weren’t necessarily of asshole content. He fixed up the loft so that it actually livable. He kept food in his house, had a bedroom bedroom, a schedule, coworkers...a Keurig.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Derek admitted, the awareness slowly seeping back into his eyes as he dropped a hand to Stiles’ thigh, eyes still trained to the ceiling, “I thought you at least had a few more hours. You passed out cold last night.”

“Mm? I did?”

Ah, that was right. Last night was pack night. It was cute. Last time they had gone mini golfing. It had been hilarious. Derek snorted at his blissful state of half steep, “Yeah. Like an hour into the movie. You wouldn’t get up.”  
  
“I had tests all week. And, you know,” he yawned, "everything else."

Derek squeezed his thigh at the mention. Derek shifted so that he was sitting up, feet planted firmly on the ground, like just the reminder threatened him. Stiles cursed himself out in his mind, he’d ruined Derek’s calm morning demeanor, of course, leave it to him. The Alpha seemed to sense his...regret?...guilt? Whatever it was he was emitting and squeezed his thigh again. Stiles laid his own hand over it briefly to let him know...know something. What, he wasn’t exactly sure, but he knew it was the right move when the man relaxed back a bit and offered him a neutral look.

“I have to take a shower.”  
  
Stiles nodded and stood, heading towards the kitchen, completely making himself at home taking out and mixing ingredients, “Where’s my coffee?”

“Make it yourself,” he said.

“What’s the point of having a coffee maker if it only makes one cup of coffee?” He accused as Derek quietly handed his half full mug over to him.

“Saves the environment?”

Stiles snorted as he took a sip of the warm drink. He’d add more sugar later.

“Wrong part of California, Mr. Go Green. Besides, how much plastic do you think people throw away each year with the plastic cuppy things you have to use.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t recycle, Stiles,” Derek responded as he reached up into one of the cabinets, presumably to get the pancake mix out.

“Whatever.”  
  
“And, contrary to popular belief,” the man said, eyebrow raised as he slid the box across the countertop, “I do live alone.”

“Must be sleep paralysis.”

“What?”  
  
“From my dream. We were married,” he jutted out an elbow in hopes to keep Derek from stealing some of the batter, it was in vain, as his tall frame curved over Stiles’ arm and he swept a finger through the pale mixture, stealing as much as he could on one digit, “You were a lot nicer.”

“Doubt it.”

“Really,” Stiles lied. They both knew but allowed themselves the play and banter.

Derek shook his head as he started up the stairs, “My partner would live in marital bliss.”

“Sure, sure. Where's the fruit?”

“To your left.”  
  
“Go, I can smell you from here.”

Without another word, the man continued up the stairs, leaving Stiles furiously mixing and actively trying to avoid any thought about the fact that Derek had said ‘partner’.

 

Thirty minutes later and Stiles had frenzied himself into a feast. There was a stack of banana pancakes, sausage, bacon, strawberries from the fridge, orange juice and toast. Derek came steadily down the stairs and stopped, throwing Stiles an accusatory glare.

The boy let his arms fly up, “I didn’t _break_ anything.”

Still looking distrustful, Derek reached for a plate and grabbed a bit of everything. Stiles followed his lead and plopped down across from him at the table.

“Why did you make so much?”

“I wanted breakfast. Couldn’t decide. So, how’s everything with work? I like always forget that you do that now.”

“Do what now?”  
  
“Work.”

Derek took a sip of his orange juice before answering, eyes shooting to the coffee mug that Stiles was holding. Seeing the glace the human shielded it away from prying eyes. Oh no, Derek had given it up. There was no way he was getting it back now.

“It’s fine,” he said, “We just started on a new set of plans for a restaurant a few towns over.”

“Yeah? How’re they coming.”  
  
“They’re not. They want too much.”

Stiles shoveled a bite of pancake into his mouth, “Doevent erybory?”

That earned him an unimpressed glare from across the table. It took everything in him not to grin maniacally just to get a rise out of him.

“Don’t,” Stiles quirked an eyebrow, “What ever it is you’re thinking about? Don’t.”

Stiles swallowed the food down as a startled laugh popped out of him.

“Whatever, dude.”

They ate in silence for the remainder of the meal, the only sounds were the scraping of their forks on plates and the occasional morning sniffle. Derek stood to collect both of their plates and carry them to the sink.

“You know,” Stiles drawled, lazily watching Derek’s back muscles as he walked, “you do own a dishwasher for this very reason.”

The man shrugged without looking back, turning the faucet on to soak the plates in, “I don’t trust them.”

Stiles grinned, “Me either.”

Derek turned and leaned backwards on the counter, “My Mom used to make us all do them after dinner. It was her idea of bonding. Laura always got out of it because she had a knack of making them even dirtier than they went in.”  
  
“You think she did it on purpose?”  
  
Derek snorted, “Of course. She was quick, always pulling stuff like that,” his eyes softened as they met Stiles’, “She would have liked you.”

Something twisted in his chest. He didn’t respond because he knew Derek could pick up his flattery elsewhere. Instead he gave a shy smile. They held each other’s gazed for a moment longer until the older man sighed.

“I’ve got to go.”

Stiles nodded and allowed him to ascend the stairs as he made his way to the couch and flipped on the television. By the time Derek had finished getting ready and made his way back down to the ground flood, Stiles was sprawled on his back and was very invested in a Parks & Rec episode. It had taken the boy ages to get Derek to agree to Netflix (let alone cable) but in the end everyone (including Derek) was happy that he caved.

“You’re not leaving?” he asked, smiling fondly at the human.

His brown hair was messy and tousled from sleep matching the state of his rumpled clothing and tired eyes. Looks like the coffee hadn’t done much for either of them. He checked his watch, noting that he had enough time to stop at one of the many drive-thrus to grab something hot and caffeinated on his way to work.

“Nah, Dad has day shift. It’s alright if I say, right?”

He snorted, “Since when did you start asking.”

Stiles pointed at him over the back of the couch, “Point.”

“Goodbye, Stiles,” he chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

“Bye. Have a good day at work!”

 

And he did.

**Author's Note:**

> I love domestic fluff & morning Sterek so much. UGH. This was a gift to myself for finishing finals (now we just wait for the dreaded grades)
> 
> Leave a comment save a life?
> 
> Thanks so so much for reading~~


End file.
